


earnestly yours

by thrvnbys



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Childhood Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, Reunions, Ronan Lynch Has Feelings, Ronan Lynch Loves Adam Parrish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-17 13:59:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18966661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thrvnbys/pseuds/thrvnbys
Summary: Adam shuddered. He had always thought that Ronan Lynch was too skinny—too mean-looking—to ever be considered handsome, but now, almost two years later, Adam conceded that there were times (however few) that he was incorrect.





	earnestly yours

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this purely for fun and figure I'd post it! I haven't finished the series but I fell in love immediately after the first book and I wanted to write something cute! Largely unedited but I hope that it's a satisfactory contribution to this small (but lovely!) community!

**i.**

Adam picked the lint off his fraying sweater, holding a makeshift poster that read, in bold capital letters,  _RONAN LYNCH._ In a half-hearted effort, he muffled a yawn into his scratchy sleeve, blinking back his sleep deprivation and scanning the airport once more for a familiar face. In all honesty, if Gansey hadn't asked him in earnest, Adam would have made up a lame excuse to get out of picking Lynch up from the airport. It wasn't as if they were friends, really. Of course, they had been acquaintances by proximity. Anyone who was close to Gansey was by default close to the three Aglionby boys that seemed to revolve around him, like vultures. 

Except, Adam thought with some satisfaction, Ronan wasn't an Aglionby boy anymore. Declan had shipped him off God knows where during the second semester of sophomore year after an incident that involved lots and lots of cherry bombs and one unfortunate teacher (who had been very well compensated). After that, Declan had refused to let Ronan back into Henrietta, instead opting to spend his own summer, winter, and Thanksgiving breaks at whatever military school Ronan was occupying during the time (however, Declan always reserved spring break for his own liaisons). 

Adam could still picture the last time he had ever seen Ronan Lynch. It was the evening before what Gansey dubbed the Cherry Bomb Incident ("Very creative," said Noah) and Gansey was begging him not to do anything stupid with Kavinsky. He had gotten some whiff of whatever the two were planning (Gansey seemed to have a sixth sense for these kinds of things) and he made the fluent switch to Parent Mode. 

"Don't be such a buzzkill, Gansey," Ronan had said, his shark-smile as unsettling as always. He was skinny back then, and in some distant afterthought, Adam wondered if he had ever grown into his ears, or his trousers for that sake. "We're just having a little bit of fun." The definition of fun was a simile for 'dangerous' and 'stupid' to Ronan. Much to Adam's dismay, Ronan had looked right at him that night, and stared at him with such a cool gaze that he fidgeted, despite himself. 

Later that night, Whelk's car had been completely destroyed, and Ronan was dragged off by Declan once again. Except, this time, he hadn't come back to school the next morning. 

If Ronan wasn't such an asshole, perhaps Adam would have felt sorry for him. After all, he had had the strange feeling that maybe the Cherry Bomb Incident was indirectly caused by him. Whelk had always been nothing but disgusted by Adam, always taunting and teasing and alluding to whatever unsavory background Adam came from. But it wasn't as if Ronan ever paid attention when he complained about his experiences with their Latin teacher. So Adam threw away that thought immediately, and focused once again on the thin ramp that passengers were now approaching at rapid speed. 

He felt his thoughts slip away again, thinking back to that pretty waitress at Nino's, and the summer nights he would be able to spend at Monmouth. Then, he wondered whether Ronan's presence would change anything between his and Gansey's dynamic. He felt something between guilt and trepidation when thinking about the wedge Ronan could stick between he and Gansey. Guilt because Gansey had always treated his friends with an equal amount of respect and attention; trepidation because he felt that Ronan Lynch could be the one to change that.

"Hey, runt," the voice that addressed him disrupted Adam's train of thought. He looked up at the large figure standing next to him, an expensive suitcase in tow, an even pricier bag swung carelessly over his broad shoulders. He was wearing a black tank top and jeans that looked deceptively simple but in reality probably cost more than Adam's monthly wages. "Long time no see," the boy exuded a type of confidence Adam could never dream to mimic. 

Adam opened his mouth to say, "Sorry I think you've got the wrong person," but the words died at his lips when the stranger lifted a hand to run his fingers through closely cropped hair. Military style. And if that weren't enough proof, the worn leather bracelets were enough to recognize him. 

"Ronan?" 

"Don't look so surprised, Parrish. I haven't changed  _that_ much." But he had. Now, in hindsight, Adam could clearly recognize the same high cheekbones, the reckless energy that shrouded Ronan wherever he went, like he was daring anybody within a ten mile radius to come and pick a fight. The same mean smile he always wore, almost like he was bearing his teeth akin to an animal. But as a whole, Ronan was completely different. Whatever faint outline he had of Ronan's past image—a strange, gaunt kid with big ears and unkempt hair—was gone. In his stead was a tall, muscular,  _handsome_ boy. 

Adam shuddered. He had always thought that Ronan Lynch was too skinny—too mean-looking—to ever be considered handsome, but now, almost two years later, Adam conceded that there were times (however few) that he was incorrect. 

"You cut your hair," said Adam, keeping his voice carefully neutral and glancing at Ronan's new haircut. He had once believed that if there was anything nice about Ronan, it was his hair, which often grew long and curled; but now in light of this new Ronan, Adam could definitely say he had been wrong. He was more attractive now that there wasn't hair constantly in his eyes.

Ronan ran his hands through his cropped hair again, except this time with less confidence. He looked nervous, almost shy about the way his hair was cut, and Adam figured he was thinking about what he had looked like in sophomore year. Ronan hadn't had a particular attachment to his long hair, and of course having it so closely cropped  _was_ more efficient, but there was still a secondary wave of self-consciousness that overcame him whenever anyone pointed it out. 

"Yeah," he said brusquely. "Mandatory cut."

For the first time, Adam noticed the bird that was perched on Ronan's suitcase.

"What is  _that?_ " Adam asked before he could stop himself. The raven blinked once, then twice at him. 

" _Her_ name," Ronan said, narrowing his eyes. "Is Chainsaw. She's my pet." 

"It's not getting in Gansey's car," Adam said, pointedly. There was no way that he was letting that possibly disease-infested bird into Gansey's beloved Camaro. It meant more to Adam knowing that Gansey wouldn't have offered his ride to him if he hadn't had absolute trust in Adam to keep it in good condition. That and it was hardly appropriate to pick up Ronan Lynch on the back of his rusty bike. 

"Yes," Ronan smiled, egging him on. " _She_ is." 

"Then put it in a cage," Adam crossed his arms, acutely aware that he sounded childish. 

Ronan's lips twisted into a scowl, "She doesn't like being in a cage. It's restricting." 

"You're being ridiculous," Adam grimaced. He had forgotten how it was like being near Ronan—the arguing, the swearing, the dark cloud that hung around them that soured any mood. 

Ronan rubbed the raven's neck, and it made some sort of noise of contentedness. Its beady black eyes narrowed in on Adam's distraught face, a head cocked sideways as an invitation for him to  _try_ to wrench her from Ronan's iron grip. "She can sit on my shoulder," Ronan bore an uncanny resemblance to one of the thugs in Gansey's old mafia movies. 

"No way," Adam distinctly remembered being bullied into doing whatever Ronan wanted to do, and tried to shake the intimidation that clung to him. "Either it goes back in whatever cage you had it in, or I call Declan to pick you up." He crossed his arms, feeling oddly satisfied when the smirk was wiped off Ronan's face.

Ronan looked down at him, his eyebrow twitching up in half-amusement. It was an unsettling stare, almost as if the cogs in his head were visibly turning, figuring out a thousand different ways to make Adam's summer miserable. 

"Fine," he said, pulling out a cage from his bag. Adam didn't even wonder about the mechanics of it. He was just grateful he had won. 

 

 

 

**ii.**

They arrived at Monmouth just after seven p.m. to a completely empty house. Noah must have wandered off somewhere, and Gansey had left a handwritten note on the fridge that profusely apologized for his absence. 

"Dinner with the family," Ronan nodded thoughtfully before crumpling up the piece of paper. "Well, he'll be back before midnight." He was saying this less to Adam, and more to the raven perched on his shoulder. Adam cringed at the talons digging into his thin cotton tank top. 

It was still weird being in such close proximity with Ronan. After the completely silent hour drive from the airport Adam had hoped it would get easier to be around him, but it was quite the opposite. It was hard to keep himself from sneaking glances at the unfamiliar boy next to him. Something about Ronan (perhaps it was the vulgarity of the boy's speech, or the general carelessness he carried around like a badge of honor) was repulsive to Adam, but there was also a deeper sense of curiosity. What had happened to Ronan these past two years? Why hadn't he tried to contact any of them? Adam was stunned to realize that after six years of proxy friendship, he knew absolutely nothing about the boy who sat in front of him. 

Ronan caught him staring. He didn't call Adam out on it, but his lips twitched into a smug smile, which was just as worse. "Is my room ready?" 

"Oh," Adam turned his gaze, flustered. "About that . . ." he hadn't imagined Gansey would be gone when they broke this news to Ronan. It wasn't as if they had a lot of time to plan for his return. The warning they had gotten was about two nights ago, when Declan had emailed them in clipped sentences, notifying Gansey of Ronan's return. It hadn't said anything about it being permanent, and there was no way of getting hold of Ronan now that he had left the military base, so they simply had to wait. Up until three weeks ago, Ronan's room _had_ remained untouched. But after a particularly brutal night with his father, Adam had taken refuge at Monmouth. How could he explain the predicament without admitting to his greatest shame? 

"Well," Ronan raised an eyebrow. "Spit it out, runt." 

Adam flushed, "You don't really have a room anymore." 

"Excuse me?" 

It was embarrassing to explain what had happened over the last few months. The increasingly violent outbursts, the loss of hearing in his left ear, the countless bruises. So Adam opted for the easier option. He simply shrugged and said, "I moved in while you were gone." 

To Adam's surprise, Ronan didn't seem angry. He simply turned his cool gaze onto Adam again, eyes flickering from Adam's face to the ratty slippers on his feet. Adam felt a blush go up his neck, and wished to God that he had cleaned himself up before going to pick up Ronan. Just by a simple flick of his gaze, Ronan could remind Adam that he was trailer trash, and always would be. "Does that mean we're sharing a bed?" Ronan's face lit up into a wicked grin and when Adam was clearly dazed by his question, let out a bark of laughter that wasn't unpleasant so much as startling. "Don't worry Parrish, I won't eat you alive," he added a belated, "yet." 

Adam blushed and turned away, uncertain what to make of Ronan's words. 

 

 

The first several nights were fine. Gansey eyed the two wearily, dark circles jarring against his pale skin underneath those wire glasses he wore. It  _was_ tiring to see Ronan and Adam circle around each other, like two street cats ready to pounce at each other. But mostly, they stayed out of each other's way. Adam worked most of the mornings and afternoons, and Ronan was always out before six. It was, to Gansey's knowledge, a sort of symbiotic relationship that could almost be classified as mutual respect for each other's boundaries if they didn't harbor such disdain for each other. He imagined it was some sort of a glance shared between them in the mornings, right before Adam headed out for the factory. A nod, perhaps? Or maybe it was the exchanging of notes that Gansey was oblivious to. Whatever it was, the two of them were never home at the same time at night. 

Adam would catch Ronan sometimes on his way out, dressed in the same sloppy way as always, stalking toward his ridiculously expensive car. Sometimes Kavinsky would be waiting out for him in the front, watching Adam the entire way, like a cat watching a mouse. Other times it was a group of Aglionby boys, luring Ronan out of Monmouth with a six-pack and another ridiculous, elaborate plan that would have gotten him kicked out of school. 

"See you, runt," Ronan never failed to snap as a greeting.

If Adam was in a good mood he would give a dismissive "don't do anything stupid," but most of the time he wasn't, so he just ignored him instead. Tonight, he was in a better mood (he had earned a day off, which he hoped he could spend with Gansey in the woods), so he settled his uneasy gaze on Ronan and said, "Stay safe." If Ronan was surprised, he didn't show it, but there was a shadow of a smile on his face as he brushed past him. 

Noah was waiting for him, sitting cross-legged in front of the door, tying and untying a pair of Gansey's discarded tennis shoes. "You're late," he said. "Did you see Ronan go by? He's going out with Kavinsky." 

Adam shrugged, pretending like he was uninterested. His curiosity with Ronan never went past the perfunctory glance, or at least that's what he kept telling himself these past few days. "I'm going to bed Noah," he yawned without having to feign his exhaustion. "Tell Gansey we're going out tomorrow, okay?" 

"Okay," Noah did a little salute which Adam smiled at. He was such a weird guy. 

The refuge of his room was warm and welcomed by a small stereo in the corner playing some sort of classical music. Adam made a face but he was too tired to roll off his bed to turn it off, and if he tuned it out just slightly, it was actually quite nice to listen to. Ronan had the weirdest, most diverse taste in music Adam had ever listened to. 

There was a little knock at Adam's door and he let out a muffled grunt to acknowledge it. It was Gansey, now sitting at the edge of the bed, toying with a piece of yarn that had come undone in his sweater. 

"How's it?" he asked. 

Adam flipped over on his side so that he was facing Gansey, but kept his eyes closed. "It's fine. You?" 

"Ronan isn't bothering you?" concern trickled into Gansey's voice. "It'll only take a few more days to set up the new room. I just haven't had the time with the search for Glendower and all." 

"It's fine, Gansey, don't worry about it," Adam breathed out, meaning it more than he realized. "Ronan and I barely even see each other during the day. He's always out with Kavinsky at night." 

"I'm afraid he's not a very good influence." 

"They're practically connected at the hip," Adam said with a surprising amount of bitterness. "Dumb and dumber." 

He felt Gansey settle down next to him, taking out a deep breath. "You still love Ronan right?" Gansey sounded so hopeful, so worried that Adam didn't have the heart to tell him that Ronan had always been  _his_ friend, not Adam's. Their attachment to each other had never been much more than a mutual respect for Gansey, and perhaps a few nights of one two many beers. 

"I'll always love him," Adam found it far too easy to let those words slip out. "The same way I'll always love Noah, and I'll always love you. But for now . . . it's just a little harder to get used to. It's been nearly two years." 

"Yeah, I know," Gansey said. "I know." 

Adam must have fell asleep just like that, mid-conversation, because when he woke up from the dip of the mattress, it was completely dark in Monmouth. The window had been opened just slightly, blowing a warm breeze through the room. The stereo was still playing something from the corner of the room, it was a sad piece from an old Chinese movie. His brain vaguely connected the dark figure carefully throwing the sheets over them to the outline of Ronan's body, but he was already half asleep by the time he decided he didn't care enough to argue. 

"Goodnight," Adam said, barely audible. 

"'Night, Parrish." 

 

 

 

**iii.**

They never talked about that night afterwards, but situations in which they were both occupying the same bed became more and more frequent. There was a lot of pedantic excuses about the new renovations to Ronan's room that prohibited Ronan from moving out of the room. To make it worse, Ronan was requesting more and more outlandish additions to his room, like a fully functioning sink (for what reason, Adam had no idea), and  _seven_ different color changes. It was a wonder anybody could walk into that room and not drop dead from the amount of paint fumes.  

But, suspiciously, Adam hadn't minded being Ronan's roommate as much as he thought he would. They still snapped at each other, and the general clumsy awkwardness between the two boys was still palpable, but there was less venom in Ronan's comments, and Adam's superfluous scolding seemed more caring than condescending. 

Adam even noted with complacency that Ronan even began to follow him around, the way stray dogs imprinted on the nearest kind stranger around.

Ronan disappeared into his room for twenty minutes, and when he reemerged, Adam willed himself to look away. He had forgotten the day of the week. Sunday. Despite his obvious disdain for any authority, Ronan was still deeply religious, no matter how much he tried to hide it. Whether it was the lasting affects of the way he was raised, or simply the belief in a high power, church was the only thing Ronan was unwilling to let go of from his past. 

He glanced nervously between the clock and Adam, like he was waiting for Adam to say something. 

"Going out?" Adam gave in. He looked up from the book he was reading, which he really had only been staring at, too distracted by Ronan's comings and goings to actually immerse himself. 

Ronan was wearing black slacks and a black button-down, for once in his life tucking in his shirt and cuffing his sleeves. Adam wondered how he would deal with the sweltering heat, but that was the least of Ronan's worries. Still, he thought begrudgingly, he looked nice.

"Yeah," Ronan said, somewhat distracted. "I missed last week's mass. I guess I can't avoid it forever." 

"Atheism is the new fad," Adam shrugged, earning a small smile from Ronan. "Is Declan going to be there?" 

"He never misses it," Ronan looked sheepish. 

It was weird to see Ronan so nervous. He acted so impervious to emotions that it was hard to realize that Ronan must have worries of his own too, even if they weren't the same as Adam's. "Why are you so afraid to go?" 

Ronan's reaction was as quick as a whip, "I'm not afraid." 

"Right," Adam nodded, a little sarcastically. "Fine, well, why don't you want to go?" 

"I want to go," Ronan shrugged. "I just don't want to be stared at. It's not like I was ever popular, but I just don't want to be the troubled kid people nod sympathetically at." Adam's eyebrows raised just slightly. He hadn't expected Ronan to open up so easily, he figured Ronan might give the perfunctory "I don't know," or "I don't like people." Ronan seemed to realize the weight of what he said, so he played it off cool and said, "Not that I give a shit." 

Adam didn't know how to respond, so he replied lamely, "I used to go to church." 

"Why did you stop?" 

"My dad." 

"Oh." He wasn't sure how much Ronan knew when it came to Adam's family life. He hadn't hid the bruises very well when he was young, but Ronan was always preoccupied with other things, half the time he barely noticed the scrawny kid who followed Gansey around. He did recall, once, during one of the few times Ronan and Adam had hung out alone, that Ronan asked if anyone had been bothering him. It wasn't explicit, but Adam had recognized that slightly uncomfortable expression everyone wore when they addressed the bruises on his arms or the cuts on his face. 

"Yeah." 

"Do you—do you want to go to church with me?" Adam wasn't sure if he had ever heard Ronan stutter before. It was a very politely phrased question, and something in the back of Adam's mind was telling him not to say yes—not to take a pity invite. 

But for some reason, Adam heard himself say "Sure, okay." He looked down at his worn blue jeans and his old graphic tee, and knitted his brows. "Should I change?" 

"You look fine," Ronan grunted. "Let's go, we're late." 

It wasn't that he regretted saying yes, per se, but Adam hadn't thought about the consequences of accepting his invitation. Adam, who hadn't gone to church since he was eight years old; Adam who couldn't stand Ronan for more than ten minutes at a time; Adam who couldn't even name  _one_ Apostle was going to Sunday mass with  _Ronan Lynch._ Things didn't get weirder than this. 

He was never so aware of this as he seated himself in the way back, uncomfortably sandwiched between Ronan and a young girl who wouldn't stop staring up at him. He waved to her, and she gave him a gap-toothed smile. 

Ronan hadn't been completely wrong. There were glances thrown their way, too-loud whispers that traveled between the pews that were obviously about Ronan.  _Look how big he's gotten. He looks like a trouble maker. I told Brianna to stay away from that Lynch boy. He's just not nice. Look at that awful mean haircut he's got. He hasn't said hello to anybody but the father._ If it weren't for the slight clench in Ronan's jaw, Adam might have guessed that these comments flew right over his head. 

"They're just simple minded country bumpkins," Adam whispered to Ronan, not quite sure why he was comforting him. 

Ronan raised his eyebrows, "Aren't  _you_ a simple minded country bumpkin?" 

Adam grinned, "I like to believe I'm open minded. Love thy neighbor and all." 

"Oh," Ronan's ear blushed pink, and Adam stifled a laugh. 

"This church is beautiful," Adam said, making small talk before mass began. There were stained glass portraits of saints he couldn't recognize and a statue of the Virgin Mary. The ceiling was higher than the one at Monmouth, which stood at an impressive twenty five feet, and a gilded organ that looked like it belonged in the fourteenth century. 

"It's my second favorite place to be," Ronan said, grinning a little. "You wouldn't believe it, but when I was younger, I never pulled any shit during mass. I always sat real quiet and waited for my dad to walk me down the isle and be blessed. I was always being complimented for my perfect manners." 

Adam raised an eyebrow, "You're right. I don't believe you." 

"Fuck off, Parrish." 

Someone in front of them shushed them, but Ronan ignored it and continued, "There's something serene about sitting in a church. Some things you can't hide from God." 

Adam almost laughed, but the stony expression on Ronan's face told him it wasn't the time to joke around. He nodded, solemnly, and played with the edges of the music sheet they had passed around. 

"It's starting," Ronan said, leaning back, looking completely comfortable for the first time since he got back to Henrietta. 

Mass was uneventful, though unlike what Adam had expected, until Declan had approached them as they were exiting the church. Declan had the similar stubborn set of his jaw, and the same slanted eyes as Ronan, but while Ronan was outwardly mean, his older brother was like a dagger sheathed in jewels. Pretty to look at, easy to admire, but something much more dangerous underneath. Adam never liked him very much. 

"You showed up," Declan's tone was immediately patronizing. 

"Yeah, I figured I'd go to one last mass before I blow up another car," Ronan bared his teeth in an unpleasant smile. "Ask the Lord for forgiveness, and all." 

Declan looked scandalized, then turned his uninterested gaze onto Adam. "Did he drag you out here?" Declan asked, sneering. "Nothing better to do on a Sunday, Parrish?"

"Nope," Adam played the neutral in this one. "Thought I might try church again." 

Instantly, Declan's politician mask slid over, an eerie change from his previous patronizing smirk. "We'd love to have you here more often," he said with a winning smile, but even Declan couldn't help at another dig at Ronan. "It'd be great for Ronan to have such a hardworking, humble boy like you around." Adam's ears burned red at the way Declan drawled out the word  _humble_ in the same tone Kavinsky said  _trailer trash._

"This is bullshit," Ronan muttered, grabbing Adam's wrist and tugging him away from Declan. "Fuck off, Declan, you condescending prat." 

Declan yelled something at them, but Ronan flipped him off. Adam thought that was very un-catholic of him to do at a church, but kept that thought to himself. 

"Don't let him bother you," Adam said softly when they were in the car. Ronan drove like like the world was about to end. "Don't let it get to you." 

"This isn't about me," Ronan snapped, his hands clenching the wheel. "He was being a bully. To you."

"You call me names, too," Adam said quietly. 

"That's not the same, Parrish, and you know that." 

"Oh?" 

Ronan was quiet for a minute. Then, he said, "Thanks for coming out with me." He added, rushed, "It was better with you there." 

"No problem, it was nice. I had a good time," Adam said, and for once, he meant it. 

 

 

Adam stuck his hand out the window, leaning his head just slightly out of reach of the wind, feeling the cold breeze comb its fingers through his dusty hair. His eyes were closed, his chin tilted up, a glimpse of a smile on his lips. He looked completely content. 

Ronan kept his eyes mostly on the road, but from time to time he allowed a self-indulgence and found himself drinking in the image of Adam, who was laid out so daintily next to him. 

He burned this picture of Adam into his mind, so he would never forget how beautifully unkempt Adam Parrish had been that day. 

 

 

 

**iv.**

By the time Ronan gets in, it's well past two a.m. on a Wednesday night (Thursday morning?). Adam was up, for God knows what reason, a book balanced on his knees. It was definitely not a good idea to be up right now, Adam was well aware, since he had work the following morning. An excruciatingly slow, hot morning shift at the trailer factory just outside of Henrietta. But (and Adam would never admit this out loud) Ronan had disappeared some time after four p.m. and hadn't bothered to leave any of them a message (not that he made that a habit, it was just lately that Ronan seemed to be considerate about letting the others know about his whereabouts), and top it all off, Noah let it slip that he was out with Kavinsky. 

So Adam stayed up, wondering what the two were getting up to so late at night. Gansey didn't approve of Kavinsky, so by default, Adam didn't either. But it wasn't just that. It was the mysterious bruises, scrapes, and cuts that Ronan often came back with. When asked, he just gave them his shark grin and shrugged it off. It wasn't hard to fill in the blanks though; it was always either late night racing (illegal, of course), boxing (which often happened after the racing, if either of them felt like a sore loser), or drunken rage (the most common of the three, closely followed by racing). 

"Hey, loser," Ronan said by way of greeting. There was the usual amalgamation of bloody cuts and bruises all over his face, and the faint smell of petrol. So racing it was, and from the glum look on Ronan's face, he had not been the winner. So he had picked a fight, Adam thought to himself, almost saddened. 

Ronan pulled off his jeans, wincing, and replaced them quickly with a pair of sweatpants. 

"You look awful," Adam said, mechanically. 

"You always look awful," Ronan replied, but with no venom. 

"Come over here," Adam ducked underneath the bed, where the first aid kit was tucked neatly behind the emergency kit. He had to push through several empty water bottles and dirty clothes (did Ronan think that if he shoved everything under the bed, it would go away?) to get to it. He pulled out Neosporin and several bandages. 

Ronan reluctantly moved closer, obviously uncomfortable at the physical contact between them. Adam had never realized how blue Ronan's eyes were.  _Eyes of a scared child,_ Adam thought at once, remembering his own gaunt, shallow face as a young boy. 

He cleaned up the blood first, already drying and crusty on the bridge of Ronan's nose. 

Ronan was weary about making eye contact. His gaze moved from the ceiling, to Adam's fraying sweater, to the pile of books by the bedside. "Whatcha reading?" he asked, and this time, he sounded a little interested. 

"It's about a girl," Adam said, and Ronan groaned, but he continued anyways. "She's beautiful and clever, but mean and wicked," this caught Ronan's attention. "She falls in love with a man," he focused on the scrape on Ronan's jaw. It was shallow, but Adam knew better from experience. Shallow wounds may not leave as many scars, but they stung worse than hell. "But he doesn't love her back. They're just not the same. She's, well, she's wild and courageous, and he's . . . he's an old man in a boy's body." 

"Does love triumph over all?" it sounded sarcastic, but Ronan had a sheepish look in his eyes that told Adam that he hoped it did. 

"No, not quite," Adam said. "She spends the better part of her life desperately in love with this man, until she realizes that it's not him she loves, but the _idea_ of him. And by the time she realizes this, the man she's  _actually_ supposed to be with is sick of her games." 

Ronan raised his right eyebrow in an elegant arch, and reached over Adam to snatch the book from his side. Adam was suddenly well acquainted with the heavy scent of Ronan Lynch—pine trees, Irish Spring soap, and a faint trace of alcohol. 

" _Gone With the Wind?_ " Ronan asked. 

"My mother's favorite." 

"Right," Ronan said, flipping through the pages. "Mine too." 

"Oh." 

"She used to call me her little Rhett Butler, but I think if anything, I was Gerald O'Hara." Something like a soft curtain came over Ronan's eyes whenever he talked about his mom, like he was reliving a thousand little moments in the span of a second. He flipped through the worn pages, touching the ink like he expected it to smear. 

"Impulsive and reckless?" 

Ronan smiled, "Maybe." 

"But kind," Adam said. "Always kind." 

Ronan looked up, just as Adam had finished pressing down a bandage on his chin. He looked surprised, perhaps a little touched. Then, the look melted away, and a grimace replaced it. "Declan caught me today. That's why I came back so late." 

"Do you want to talk about it?" 

"Not really." Ronan shifted away from Adam, toying with the bed spreads. "I just wanted you to know that's why I was late." 

"Thank you," Adam said. "For telling me." 

For one sincere moment, Ronan felt like he could tell Adam everything. That he could tell him about all the awful nights he spent with Kavinsky, trading one kind of hurt for another. It was the way he looked at him, cool and steady, with not a pinch of pity or condolence. A perfectly schooled, emotionless face. Ronan hesitated. 

"Parrish?" 

"Yeah?" 

"What are you going to do?" 

Adam raised an eyebrow, but didn't look up at him, busying himself with another one of Ronan's injuries, this time on his arm. "About what?" 

"Your dad. School. Money." 

"I guess I'll have to see when it's time, huh?" Adam said, his voice didn't betray a single thought. Typical of Parrish to keep it all bottled together. "What about you? You have it all figured out, Ronan?" 

He rather liked the sound of his name when it came from Adam's lips. Sweet and slow in a Henrietta accent, not the way Declan made it sound harsh and brittle, like he was spitting out the name rather than saying it. Ronan almost considered asking him to say it again, so he could close his eyes and pretend like they weren't at Monmouth, dressing his wounds. He could imagine that they were somewhere in South France, maybe. Or California. Or Algiers. 

"Maybe we can leave," Ronan said, finally. 

Adam guffawed, an ugly, unsophisticated laugh that seemed so  _real._ It tugged at Ronan's heart. "Just you and me? Out on the streets?" 

"I can live off my trust fund for the rest of my life, Adam. I could take care of you, too." 

Adam stiffened.  _I could take care of you._ He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hands wearily, blinking away the sleepiness. "Don't be stupid, Ronan. What would we do together? We hate each other." 

"I don't," 

"Excuse me?" his perfectly practiced non-Henrietta accent came back, the same smooth way Declan changed his attitudes. 

"I don't hate you, Adam Parrish." 

There was something about saying his whole name,  _Adam Parrish,_ that was intimate and far more personal than just  _Parrish._

"I'm glad." 

"Me too." 

A beat of hesitation. Then, a hand on his cheek. 

"We could go anywhere, Adam," Ronan said. "What's keeping us here, anyways?" 

"Gansey? Noah?" Adam said, playfully, moving ever so slightly out of Ronan's reach. 

"We'll bring them along," Ronan said, waving the thought off. "We could all go. Somewhere away from these stupid sweaters and nosy neighbors. Away from Declan and your dad." 

Adam's eyes were frighteningly angry, red-rimmed from sleeplessness and fatigue (Ronan  _told_ him he'd work himself to death). "And what do I do, Ronan Lynch? Live off of your charity for the rest of my life? Wear a little diamond encrusted leash so people can call me your lap dog in public instead of behind my back? You don't really understand, do you?" he breathed out, harshly. "I don't want to be anyone's property." 

Ronan slumped against the headboard. "So what? We stay here miserable?" 

"No," Adam said firmly. "We bloom where we're planted. We survive." 

The first aid nonsense was cleared away with one rushed sweep of Ronan's arm, and Adam rolled his eyes, too tired to scold. 

"Adam?" 

The light was turned off. 

"Yes?" 

"It doesn't have to be that way," Ronan said, softly. "We can go anywhere else. Even just the town over. It'll be like it always was." Belatedly, he added, "The four of us—you working your ass off, me picking fights, Gansey chasing after the next new thing and . . . well, Noah'll be doing  _something_ I suppose." Beside him, he felt the bed shake in soundless laughter. 

"I wouldn't mind that," he felt Adam roll over on his side, so that he was facing Ronan. Ronan forced himself to stare up at the ceiling, afraid of what he would say if he looked Adam in his eyes. 

Ten or fifteen minutes must have passed, both boys painfully aware of who was sleeping (or at least trying to) next to them. 

 _When had things changed?_ Adam wondered. Was it the first night they spent together? The day they went to church together? Or perhaps it had always been there, this sense of familiarity and—warmth? Perhaps it wasn't something new, just undiscovered. Dormant and sleeping underneath layers of insecurities and initial disdain.

"Adam?" the silence was broken again by Ronan's deep, uncertain voice. 

"Yes?" 

"I did it for you," he waited a beat before continuing, "that night with Whelk." 

Adam finally closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh. 

"I know, Ronan." An affectionate pause. "I know." 

Underneath flimsy covers, two clumsy hands found each other, meeting tentatively in the middle. An apology, a confession, a hedonistic compromise.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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